JOSH RITTER: Beauty in Uncertainty

A crimson river floods Ritter’s Royal City while God sits alone “in a cold, dark room” not wasting so much as a glance on the destruction. After all, Ritter sings, “He bent down and made the world in seven days/And ever since, He’s been walking away.” Soon, Wagnerian thunder erupts – terrifying cymbals crashing, bass drums throwing wild punches, a percussive piano splintering into the cloudy air. It’s the soundtrack of a skyscraper imploding.

As nonlinear as “Thin Blue Flame” is, it’s Ritter’s most direct diatribe against religiosity. “God isn’t going to make things better,” he says. “Why is it that community is so undervalued?  I don’t understand why spending all this time trying to be good in a certain way hoping to get to heaven is doing any good for any of us if we’re not just doing good for other people. That’s part of the song. It’s impossible to imagine that there’s a God who’s going to help you out if you’re not going to help other people out.”

Ritter practices what he preaches. Tonight he does his part to establish a tightly-woven, peaceful community, if only as a two-hour respite from the complex reality that he’s so driven to figure out. As 450 of his devotees shuffle and squeeze closer, Ritter takes the stage. Baez is right; this is where he shines like the Northern lights. He’s clearly at home – at peace, even – onstage, and he offers his songs with the same humility and candor that he allows in casual conversation.

“We just finished a record, so we’re gonna play a lot of new stuff,” Ritter tells the audience. “It’s like bringing someone home to your parents, tattoos and all.” To the contrary, it’s not awkward in the least. The majority of the fans down front already are familiar enough with “Good Man,” either from past performances or downloaded Internet bootlegs, that they sing along with the chorus.

As he hears his words bouncing back at him, everything makes a little more sense to Ritter. It shows in the curled laugh lines on his face and the jump in his step. He’s engaging like no other performer working today, radiant with the passion of Damien Rice and the hunger of an early Johnny Cash. When he enthusiastically sends up the song’s final lines (“I’m a good man for you/I’m a good man”) the crowd erupts with approval.  Ritter gleefully nods his head and says, “Thanks. Thanks a lot, everybody.” The formality is hardly necessary. His seven-acre smile already told us.